It was evening. Freezing cold in fact.

But it was absolutely beautiful. It was pitch black out here, seeing as it was roughly 10 o'clock at night. The moon was not out, seeing as it was nearly a full new moon but there were the stars. A few clouds floated by too - gray with the winter that was nearing them. There was a thin, fine powder of snow everywhere, creating a crystaline look.

Jibril too, was dusted with the fine powder, adding a fragile look to his already porcelain appearance. He glowed this night as he always does in the dark, but with the snow, he was an even more alluring sight. Whether or not he was cold, he didn't show it either, sprawled out on the comfy, cushioned lazy-boy-turned-lawn-chair; he was located on the balcony of his condo. His glowing eyes were half-lidded and sparkling, while snow clung to his thick eyelashes. It might have been a light snow, but it was everywhere.

He wasn't dressed for the outside, at least, his torso wasn't. He was once again bare chested, no shirts at all, his black tattoo below his button stood out against his pale flesh very noticably. On his arms though, were fishnet armings, like sleeves of a fishnet shirt - but no actual shirt. They were held up by small, thin belts that wrapped around his upper arms, and they went down to his fingers, closing around the bases of them like gloves. Now, while that was no excuse for upper body protection, he didn't care.

His pink ringlets hung loose around his face and onto his shoulders. They were still fresh and pretty, pinks of all colors. He was thinking about letting it go natural for a little and then dying all of them white with red and green bottoms - holiday spirit you know? He had taken a shower a little bit ago, but had dried him and his hair up completely so there was no frizz or wet parts spotted anywhere.

A beer bottle was grasped slightly in one pale, slender hand, adding a rather odd decoration to him while the other had the last bit of a joint in it. So he was rather high and somewhat buzzed at the same time. But he was in his usual, rather laid-back mood so its not like it is anything new.

He wore no shoes, instead, pretty white feet were visible, hanging over the arm chair and sticking up in the air as the other leg was on the floor. The hand that held the beer bottle went over the other arm of the chair while the one with the joint rested on the leg that was in the air. His pants were the usual, heavy duty, pocket/mesh and strap/belt/chain covered black things that he usually wore. There was no belt this time though, and there wasn't any boxers either. He was going commando.

He was staring up at the stars, admiring them. The lights were low in this area, becuase people wanted their sleep and privacy. His wings were not out though, becuase he was too lazy to take them out. His peircings - all of them; face, ears, and bellybutton - were glittering, he was wearing platinum instead of the usual silver. It was so much prettier.

So was this night sky.

((Em doesn't love his jibby. He worship/love/huggle/grovels at his feet/kisses his hands his jibby. ;) ))

The night was cold, but so was the demon.

On the hottest day of the year, Vyncyra Verkur's skin was cold to the touch, like touching the dead. On the coldest day of the year, his skin didn't get a rosey pink of someone whose gotten cold with the weather. It's just as cold as the weather, just as pale as the sky. His blood didn't flow, his heart didn't beat, his skin didn't tan. The light gray tint to his flesh summoned the image of a perfectly carved marble statue. But all of the scars that riddled nearly every inch of his body gave a rugged, harsh reality to him. Smooth as all of those lines were, no amount of attintion paid could produce such detail.

His long, muscular legs were covered by a length of black leather, his torso covered in a thin silk shirt, red. Very rarely does he wear anything with so much color. The red against the black pants, his pale gray skin, those enormous black wings, stood out like a drop of blood on a white sheet of paper. His white eyes glowed brightly.

Where Jibril's hair is short and pink and curly, Verkur's hair fell past his ass, nearly to his knees now in a long, slightly wavy curtian of blackness, so black that it held a light shin of blue in most lights. That very hard to reach, impossible to imitate blue-black color that can only be natural and really only on a supernatural being. He'd left it, as was usual, down, though he'd taken time to pull the top portion away from his face in a small ponytail that twisted into a braid, exposing his throat, the tatoo mark on the side of his throat resembling the shape of a triangle. That thin braid rested in the rest of his hair, the portion that was pulled back on top giving the effect of a halo. How ironic. Some feel of power and possesion surrounded that tatoo at his throat.

But Jibril couldn't see any of this. No one could. No, he isn't invisible. Verkur's powers gave him the ability to 'blend' with the background, much like a camilion only better.

Something, probably the simple fact that Jibril, aside from himself and the gods, was the oldest creature that Verkur had ever encountered, made Verkur not wish to simply drop in unanounced on the Angel. The Angel's age and power demanded some level of respect, even from the demon, even for being one of the demon's beings. Verkur owned many, but Jibril was better, older, stronger, wiser then they and he would treat the Angel just a little better then them. Benifits of age.

Just because Jibril can't see him does not mean he can't hear his wings flaping with long slow strokes, feel the gusts of chill wind they send, smell that musky smell of death and delight that the demon seemed to have. Verkur dropped himself onto the edge of the balcony and crouched down on the railing, butt on his heels, wings in the air behind him to counter his balance, and his arms resting on his thighs.

"You look comfortable." That inhuman voice couldn't belong to anyone else.

He said nothing about the inappropriate dress for the weather, he's an Angel, he can feel cold but really...how much affect does it have on him health wise? Or about the joint and booze *glares at Jibril* because it's the angel's body. Of course...now it belongs to Verkur. But either way he didn't care. Drugs couldn't affect Verkur, his body doesn't function at all, it's frozen with time in a sense.

He remains invisible. He won't just drop in on the angel unanounced. He'll hang around invisibly, announce himself, and then whether or not Jibril likes it, he'll let himself be seen.

(( So sweet! ))

Jibril was only paying so much attention to his surroundings, but Verkur being who he is, with his scent, and that aura of his - of course Jibril would be able to notice him. He wouldn't have needed to even hear the wings either. His own scent had an odd mixture with the other's, he smelling like rum and vanilla - odd and very strong, but warm feeling too.

Jibril's eyes focused onto the spot where he presumed Verkur to be, after all - the snow was crunched there, seeing as everything else is perfectly undisturbed. One might think he might have freaked out, but he wouldn't have. Verkur dropping on him would have earned the demon a toss through the side of the building. This was much nicer, and Jibril smiled softly, almost a smirk in the corner of his pretty pink mouth. The voice gave him away.

"Very comfortable actually..."

Jibril raised the last bit of the joint to his mouth, and breathed in, holding the smoke before letting it out slowly. The milky looking fog mixed in with his icey breath around his face and up past his eyes. He flicked the joint away. Don't glare at him for the drugs and booze, its beena force of habit, living with humans isn't easy and dealing with them sure ain't either.

"How...have you been...Verkur?"

Another polite smile, head inclining softly in a sort of bow.

Through the wall? That wouldn't make the demon too happy and it would probably result in a big mess of bricks in place of a few buildings in the end. They're both so powerful. The city may as well start hoping that these two will never result in a fight. It would not end well.

Verkur put one hand down beside him, fingers spreading wide, claw marks following them, leaving a large handprint in the snow with long, extensions. Then he closed his hand, smearing the hand print and taking a fist of snow with him that promptly disappeared. Remember when Verkur carried Alice over the city? No one had seen either of them because Verkur's power of concealment extended to what he held, if he so wished.

He let go of the ball of snow and it fell, suddenly visable again, a thin chunk of ice until it landed in the snow on the floor of the balcony. Verkur stood up and the only indication that he did so was that the snow imprint where his toes were while he'd been sitting on his heels changed. The entire footprint appeared, the print of boots. Big foot, but then, he's tall. And the boots were clunky, of course they were, they rode to his knees beneath the pants.

"All things considered, well enough." He didn't say what the things to be considered were, Jibril didn't need to know and Verkur wasn't in the habbit of adding unneeded information. But those things to be considered would be his Code, restricting him from certian appealing methods of killing, torturing, or chaotic games. Damn.

Lets hope they never have a reason to actually get into such a serious fight, that would not be good at all.

"Lovely..."

Jibril was watching the spot where the other was in mid fascination. How interesting, he could make other things invisible too. The snow had dissapeared and then it reappeared in a clump as if gripped in the demon's strong hands. Jibril smirked and stretched, then standing up slowly, with that cat-like movement. Beer bottle in hand, he took a long swig to finish it off, setting it on the extra flimsy chair beside his.

Powdered snow fell lightly from his sparkling body, clothes, and hair as he moved smoothly over to where Verkur was standing. He'd come up to a little bit below the other's belt line, with the banister being so high. His hands found the boots of the other, and then they trailed up, feeling the strong thighs, the toned chest, and he could almost reach the collar bone. Almost, but not quite enough. He trailed his fingers back down then, turning away and walking over to his chair, not sparing another glance back.

"Are you going to stay out here, invisible or would you like to come in?"

He moved on over to the huge window like doors, shuffling as he looked for the handle to find the lock, leaving the beer bottle where it was.

"Not at all," he replied to Jibril's 'lovely'. Nothing is lovely unless it is chaotic. Except, of course, War and Jibril. Note the capital letter there, war is a thing that men do, War is Verkur's god.

Verkur watched Jibril move, watching the snow fall off of the angel in a light dust and eyeing the traces it left on the other's bare torso, in his pink hair. Jibril moved closer, his face leveling just at Verkur's belt line and, were Jibril not so old and unique, and had Verkur not decided /some/ inkling of respect was to be applied here, he would have done something provocative and likely to embarass or anger the other. Or maybe not, since the other was high.

He let Jibril's hands touch his boots, since obviously Jibril can see where he is standing, what with the foot imprints and all. He let Jibril run his hands on their course, Jibril would have felt the soft and rough combonation of leather boots, leather pants, low riding on the demons hips, stretched tightly over his skin. The silk of the shirt and how thin it was between Verkur's cold chest and Jibril's cooled fingers. Then the hands slid away and Verkur felt himself tighten in the nether regions. It's not good. Not because it's bad but because he wants the Angel involuntarily. Usually he decides what he wants and does not want, not his body.

Damnit. Should just kill the angel. Ah well.

Verkur jumped down, or rather gracfully stepped down onto the balcony, creating more foot prints, took several steps to follow the angel, leaving tracks, then stopped at the glass door. The air seemed to waver just a little and then he fadded slowly into veiw, first an outline and then color.

Killing Jibril is a nono.

Jibril was chuckling to himself. The aura Verkur was giving off, it was, well...he found it well....amusing. He was begining to notice that he was shivering. Ever so slightly. He was not immune to cold. He looked back at the other over his shoulder, smiling softly for a second before turning his attention to the now open doors. He stepped on through. It was much warmer in here.

"Please shut the door and take of your boots Verkur."

He stepped delicately onto the plush, soft black carpet. One of the first things people will notice about his home. Black curtains, black carpet, bleach white walls, leather couch, and an assortment of brightly colored bean bags. It smelt of rain. He rubbed his upper arms slightly as he walked on ahead into the room. His back tattoo seemed to stand out, the swirls looking menacing compared to the elegant, unknown writing.

It was actually to some, mildly fascinating to watch his back. How the muscles controrted and brought the tattoo to life, swirls making a picture when he turned a certain way or whatnot. He stretched forward this time, popping his back. The swirls were a monster eating the words, then it was a sirling abyss, so many pictures. Careful to not get hyponotzed.

He turned back to look at Verkur for second, looking over him. The other certainly looked nice. Very nice. He looked up and down him appreciatively before looking back over to his couch. Which was right where he was planning to flop.

Verkur took two steps into the apartment, his boots firmly on his feet, before pausing and closing his eyes. Counting to three maybe, perhapes giving himself a pep talk. Doubtful. Verkur was imagining trying to put claws through Jibril's back and heart. But no, respect was demanded here and he didn't want a dead Jibril (I wouldn't let him anyways), he wanted an alive, warm, sexy Jibril.

Verkur stepped back and bent, unbuckling his boots almost professionally fast. Try ever finding someone who can unbuckle so many buckles this fase /with/ those claws /without/ leaving a scratch on the boots. It took a full minute to get the first boot off and when he put his bare foot on the carpet he lost and inch of height, though it didn't make him short in any sense of the word. Still taller then six feet five. Off the other boot went and he set them togather in the corner.

Before pulling the door shut, he gave his wings a shake, the leather making solid, thick sounds in the movment, ice spraying off of them. Then he shut the door.

"What have you been doing Jibril?" He means in the past few days. The demon moved his ehite eyes over the room but didn't comment.

"Not much actually, laying around, drinking, going out with Logan to places...mundane things..."

Jibril pulled up his pants, straightening them out, still not facing Verkur yet becuase he is kicking some of the bean bags out of his way. To get to the couch you see. He bent over, picking up two of them and tossing them over to the corner of the room while kicking the others in that direction. He yawned, still slightly tired from his nap and then stretched once more. This time he stretched his back and neck, standing on tippy toes. His hands went under his hair, pulling the curls up - revealing his slender neck - before flopping them back down to his sides.

He stopped in front of the couch, finally turning around to look at Verkur. His pink curls were falling partly in his face and his mouth was slightly open. Half-lidded eyes looked over Verkur, at the shoes, at the ice, and then at the closed door. He smiled.

"Thank-you."

And then sprawled on the couch, one leg on the floor and the other on the couch, arm on the side and the other was on top back of the couch. He is obviously a proffesional, but he was able to look graceful and elegant still. Something Alice and many people have yet to figure out how to do.

Alice is too cat like to sprawl anywhere. Cats curl up or stretch out in a long clean line, lazy but fickle. Jibril looks lazy but elegant and very un-cat like sprawled over the sofa. Actaully, it makes me think of a pretty doll just drapped over the sofa. Verkur watched, raising a slender black eyebrow up and scowling at the beanbags. Stupid useless peices of junk that were highly flamable and nothing but in the way.

Verkur shook back his hair, or the part that was down. His face looked thinner and stronger then usually because the hair was pulled back away from it. Usually long strands hung over his shoulders, hiding his neck, resting on his face. This way, it was off of his face, away from his neck, exposeing a tattoo on his neck that wasn't nearly as intricate as Jibril's back but something certinally different about it.

maybe because it isn't a tattoo.

He folded he wings and crossed the room in long strides, pausing to push Jibril's foot off of his own sofa and sit down where it had been.

"Logan is the name of your being?" Not your master. He collects, Jibril might as well. It might be smarter not to talk too much about who exactly Logan is, Logan might get a visit from a very unpleasent demon...or maybe not.

He is like a doll in a sort of way. Pretty, porcelain looking, and oh so quiet and still. He is watching Verkur, in this position, a lot of his own features are shadowed, and with the curs in his face it was moslty covered. But he had a small smile on his face, especially when Verkur tried to push his white foot off the couch. He simply shifted, turning onto his back, one set of limbs hanging off the couch while the other set is resting up on the back of the couch.

He eyed the other, green eyes flashing when the other questioned about Logan. He smiled softly, aloof.

"I suppose one can say that."

Jibril's heart swelled just thinking about the boy. He adored him, there was no point in denying it.

"Interesting." Sort of. Alright, not really. His tone didn't sound too interested. He sounded like for all he cared this little Logan beastie didn't exists in the first place. He watched Jibril shift and turn over, laying what looked like spread eagle in front of Verkur. Is he trying to provoke the demons less destructional but probably just as distructive attention? He really doesn't need to try, he's already got it.

The shadows over Jibril's face did nothing to hide his features from Verkur, the demon is after all, a creature of shadows and night and dark things. He can see in them, it's what the perfect vision is for. His glowing eyes actually cast a little light into the shadows too. His claw slipped up the inside of Jibril's leg to his thigh.

"The little beastling doesn't know does it?" Not kid, not boy, not even he. That's what he thinks of Logan.

Of course he isn't. This is Jibril, he is oblivious to how the other is feeling right now, all he knows is that he is very comfortable. He stretches a little, getting comfortable as he looked up at Verkur.

"Mm."

When Verkur put his hand on Jibril's leg, he did not stiffen as some might, he kept relaxed. He was willing. His eyes bore into Verkur's, they were casting a green light on his own pale features. When Verkur mentioned Logan as a beastling, he didn't even bat an eye, he just kept staring at him. He gave a small sigh, licking his lips and shook his head, now biting his lower lip.

"No, he doesn't."

And he better not ever find out. Especially about You.

The not flinching didn't do anything for Verkur, it didn't matter to him one way or the other if the other was willing or not, or if they flinched away from him or not. Either way he got what he wanted when he wanted it.

The demon's claws played on Jibril's inner thigh, almost like plucking a violin string, only those claws would have cut the strings in a milisecond. They didn't, however, tear up Jibril's pants, he has better control of his bodily knife like extensions then that. A small, dark smile that is very tradmark to Verkur crept across his lips.

"That's too bad."

He wondered what would happen if this Logan creature found out. It might just be fun.

It was still better than him immediately pulling away, at least Verkur wouldn't have to fight. Unless he keeps this up, 'cause he is pushing all the right buttons on Jibril. He watched the hand, noting where it was and where it could go, but he didn't care. He did care however, when that dark smile crwled onto Verkur's face. His eyes narrowed, almost unnoticably though.

"I find it to be rather good actually..."

His legs are quick. They are now wrapped around the torso of Verkur and the arm that is on his leg. Mind you, this is not an attack. He is simply winding his legs around the body and arm of Verkur, pulling him closer. His eyes bore into the other's.

He smiled. It was small and soft, but there was an almost smirk like hint to it.

Verkur moved with the pull of Jibril's legs willingly, very suprisingly. He wasn't worried about being circled by the other's legs, or even by having one arm pinned down by the position. He knew Jibril was powerful, maybe as powerful as himself, probably as powerful as himself, but he also knew, by both having touched Jibril and having seen him naked, that he was stronger, physically, then Jibril and it he wanted, he could break away.

See, this is the kind of thing that is always going on in the background of the demons mind. Is he the more powerful, is he at any risk to himself? Size does matter, in a different manner really, and verkur would prefere to be the bigger, stronger part of the pair.

He leaned himself against Jibril, on top of him and let his face hover over the angel's. Black hair sliding around his shoulders like silk to fall on Jibril's face and chest, covering his own marking on his neck.

"Oh? And what exactly happens if, say, the beastling finds out?"

Not that he will, really, but just what if? Verkur's enjoying this game. His dark smile matched Jibril's smirkish one.

Jibril looked over the other's face and what he could see of the other's body. Of course, he is vulnerable in this position. His knees are practically touching his own shoulders. Yay for flexibility. He looked up into the dark face of the other, riaisng an eyebrow.

"What would happen? He would get increasingly jealous and might either ignore me for a long time or forbid me from ever seeing or talking or coming in contact with you again."

Utter seriousness. He looked up in Verkur's face, eyes still narrowed slightly and prtty pink mouth pursed in though. Hm.

(( ack, short, so sorries >< ))

Do you realize what might happen to Logan if he forbade Jibril from seeing Verkur? The Demon would laugh at him. Do you know what he'd do to Logan if Jibril actually obeyed that order though? Logan's a tough, nasty kid but honestly, how well would he fair against an angry demon that can't die?

Verkur hung over Jibril still. The angel certinally was in a very vunderable position. Especially if Verkur just suddenly decided he would go ahead and kill the angel. But he's not, instead he grinned, the sharp smile with pointed teeth and dark eyes that meant nothing nice and nothing innocent.

"What happens if he does that?" I'll kill him would be a good answer. Pushing buttons. This is as far as Verkur will push because he knows he's toeing that line. One more button after that might send Jibril over the edge. It wouldn't be very nice to have to kill such a pretty and strong creature.

Verkur is getting cocky. And is definetely toeing the line. Dangerously. Of course Logan wouldn't be able to stand up to an Ancient Demon would can't die. But if he were to do anything to Logan,who says he can stop Jibril? Jibril will have ripped off quite a few somethings off before Verkur will actually be able to kill the Angel. Jibril's one tough little sonofabitch.

While this postion may be vurnerable, Verkur would still have to rip the other arm out of his legs. He wouldn't be able to kill Jibril with one hand. He's had quite a few things go through his heart. Gods know how he manages to servive. He smiled back, rocking ever so slightly in this position, back and forth. He's a little restless feeling, he usually gets this way after sitting still and taking a nap. He needs movement.

Jibril's smile strained slightly, a low growl in the back of his throat.

"I would probably do whatever he tells me to..." A pause and then his eyes narrowed, staring up into Verkur's eyes, that smirking smile. "...unless it put him in danger..."

No more treading the ice Verkur.

Oh see, theres the loop hole. Unless it would put him in danger. Verkur could kill Logan, and if he had to, he probably wouldn't hesitate to kill Jibril. And even if Jibril knows he can fight with the demon, would he really want to even /risk/ Logan's life to find out who would win that battle?

His smile, if possible, got darker, charmingly beautiful, but frightening. He pressed his forhead down onto Jibril's their eyes every close, his eyes very bright. "Good, then I won't have to worry about your obeying that sort of command." Oh dear.

His hair fell around them to make a dark curtian, the one that Alice seems to be so used to by now, and draps his wings down around Jibril's body, rocking back against the angel when the other started rocking. Jibril's narrowed eyes don't seem to worry him. In fact, they almost amuse him.

Of course not. which is why the last thing Jibril wants to do is fight. He gave a slightl sigh, relaxing into the rocking of the other. This position was already provactive enough, but their movement? Even more so. Jibril was really relaxed, and when he relaxed His leg muscles loosened and Verkur's body was even closer to his. Then the perspective changed.

They've just rolled off the couch. Verkur is on the ground and Jibril isstraddling him, comfortable in his position atop of Verkur. He was grinning cutely too. Like a child who has just done something they really shouldn't have, but won't get sreiously punished. What a cute little grin. He rolled his his slightly, hands on the other's chest and face above theirs.

"Hah."

Silly Demon. Silly Angel.

Verkur stiffened as he rolled off of the sofa and his wings instinctivly got tucked against his back tightly, his free hand found a position on Jibril's throat that would allow him both to squeeze and press claws into the back of the neck if he so choose. Instead, his hand just rested there for a moment. He would have liked his other hand free to position over the heart but that wasn't happening.

It's good that his instincts told him to tuck his wings up, otherwise he may have crumpled one wing beneath his and Jibril's weight on the floor. And that would have seriously pissed him off.

Then Jibril sat up as if he was some triumphant mighty creature for that little stunt and straddled Verkur. The demon's white eyes narrowed in annoyance and his hand tightened around the angel's throat, without digging his claws into flesh. Stupid little game of yours almost got you dead angel. Well...maybe not immediatly dead but in the long run they'd probably both be very sore. Only....verkur doesn't mind pain.

Jibril did nothing about the hand around his neck, just stared down at Verkur with a raised eyebrow. Jibril does mind pain - sure, he can take quite a lot since his pain censor is shot to hell, but he isn't immune.

"What?"

Voice not one bit affected by the hand around his throat. Still the same, gruff, rough, deep voice. He leaned down, pushing lightly against the other's hand and arm. His curls fell over, falling and teasing the other's face slightly as they just barely brushed against the grey skin. He smiled.

"Could you let go of my neck?"

He smiled sweetly and innocently, how could one say no to that face?

How can one say no to a face li...easy. By being a cold, heartless bastard. Instead of letting go of his throat, Verkur's girp tightened more, this would have broken a mortal's neck probably but Jibril isn't the only angel that Verkur owns. If young little Alice can handle some of the things he does, then Jibril's body can handle this.

No answer.

After a long moment, surely a human would have suffocated by now, he dug his claws in just slightly, but it didn't matter because he knew Jibril would just heal it back up, and then released the angel's throat and ground up against him in a way that would probably cause pain, if not mild pain.

His facial expression did not change as Verkur dug his claws into his neck. Ah, Jibril saw it now. Verkur didn't like the roll off the couch. Jibril saw nothing wrong with it. He would have rather cracked something than be stuck, restless under something. He simply waited patiently until the other let him go, only after causing some wounds that rehealed in a near instant.

He let out a breath when the other let go and pulled his face back up, breath as even as if that didn't just happen. Then the other ground up against him. That was actually rather painful, causing Jibril's back to arch slightly as if trying to get away from the pain. But his legs were wrapped around Verkur.

No problem.

He quickly and efficently untangled them from the other, rolling backwards to flop on the ground with a sigh. He was laying but his torso was propped up on his elbows, and he was staring at Verkur with mild amusement. Verkur did not qute yet give him reason to fear him, reasons to respect - yes, fear -no. So he simply sat there, chortling under his breath.

"You are something alright."

"Of course I'm something." He replied, his tone less human then it already was, he was growling, a deep rumbling sound deep at the bass of his throat. "They wouldn't have sent me here if I were normal." And in case your wondering, no he's not going to explain that to Jibril.

But it might not matter, he's already seized Jibril's arm in a tight grip and pulled him towards himself, pressing their sides togather, his wings unfolding beneath him and laying flat out along the floor. He mouth took a bite of skin at Jibril's shoulder, scowl.

"Where are your wings?"

Jibril gave a chuckle and he didn't ask what it meant. He had no time to anyways, for he was grabbed by the other and pulled to Verkur, pressed against the other. He was bitten and he shivered, fingers playing with the soft fabric of the other's shirt.

"Where are my wings?"

He rolled his shoulders. Chest muscles contorting as he did so. a small smile as he looked back and then to Verkur.

"They are tucked away..."

He didn't open them immediately becuase Verkur didn't say he wanted them, he just wanted to know where his wings were. Jibril look innocently at Verkur, blikning ever so slightly and then stretching as he tried to sit up. His back was getting stressed though, so he would have to let them out some time.

Verkur figured that much, he'd seen Alice pull his wings in and out of veiw a few times and it no longer confused him as to where the wings had gone. His hand slipped over Jibril's back and a claw drew a line down the other's spin, stopping right above his butt, then moving back up lingering before letting all of his claws touch the back, meaning two claws were on either spot where the wings should be. The touch actually tickled, like a pen point being drug along the skin.

"That's regretable."

Another bite, yes Kaylee, he likes to bite. This time right below the ear.

"Mhm."

Jibril shuddered, ever so slightly, at the ticklish touch fo the other. He is very ticklish, did you know that? Extremely ticklish, he almost giggled, but he didn't, more making a sort of breathy noise instead. He stiffened when the other bit him, he does it whenever anyone touches his neck on the side, no matter in which spot. Verkur had his whole hand wrapped around his neck, the claws weren't near the side. But these teth were. He gave low rumble from the back of his throat.

"If you want them out you can just say so..."

He shuddered, mouth presing in a straight line. His back was feeeling very pressured, and they were already coming out before he even decided to. It was the same process as usual. Lumps rose, the skin was pressed until it ripped open, and those massive, black-feathered wings of his burst out. In reply he gave a long sigh of relief.

"That...is so...much better..."

He stretched the fishnet covered arms as best as he could, now sitting up as his back stretch and silver droplet covered wings did the same. It always felt nice to let them out.

Verkur's chuckle was a deep, throaty sound that, had you not known he was a demon, might have sounded more like a grumble. He watched the wings come out themselves, brushed his hand along one of them as it came out of the back, until it was entirly out and he stroked it. Verkur's always had this thing about wings. No one could touch his without permission but he didn't care what others thought about him touching theirs and he loved to do so.

"I don't have to." Ask that is. He stroked the feathers, smoothing them down some and lifting his silvery blood soaked fingertips to his lips, sucking them clean. I'd have to say Verkur is probably just as appealing and lovely licking blood off of his fingers as Jibril is. It's more interesting that Jibril's blood is silvery. The silver on his gray skin is quite a site.

"They tend to come out on their own when I remind you that they're stuffed in there." He's learned that through experiance from Alice. It seems the same for Jibril.

Jibril's wings flapped slightly when touched, silver splattering in some places along his wall and carpet. This was always a bloody mess. But Jibril didn't care. He cleaned up a lot of things all the time, especially getting things off his clothes. He knows abuot 50 different ways to remove blood from different fabrics. He leaned in forward slightly against Verkur, arms over the other's shoulders but not yet touching the wings.

"Mm. True, only if they really are stressed out or have been in there for a long while."

He shrugged passively. He stretched his back just a little more, all of his chest muscles moving as he did so. They wings stretched out as far as possible, his head was titlting back. Oh this felt much nice.

"You just have good timing..."

Verkur's fingers continued to stroke the feathers down after licking away the blood from his fingers. Jibril's fingers close to his wings over the shoulders doesn't seem to bother him very much, but then, Acid's fingers being so close hadn't bothered him either, and when Acid had actually touched them without permission, Verkur had wrapped fingers and claws around the shadow's wrists so tightly he'd nearly taken the hand off.

He's touchy about them.

"Perhapes." He knows he does, the demon had always had a knack for being on time and for being able to read people, or beings, well enough to be able to time his words and actions just right. He lowered himself backwards until he was laying on the floor and stretched loungingly. Jibril might be an expert at Sprawling but Verkur's an expert at Lounging. Very cat-like.

Isn't every creature with wings, touchy about their wings? If Jibril was a little more touchy about his wings, he would've already torn skin and msucle from the hand. But he isn't that bad. Not that he xactly trusts Verkur, no doubt the demon probably sees nothing wrong with plucking out feathers. The other replied but he stayed quiet.

Blinkblink.

The perspective came, and Jibril was lying on top of Verkur's chest once again, looking up and forward at the other's face. He blinked, dizzy for a moment before chuckling again. This is funny.

"Obviously."

Jibril's fingers ran up and down the other's arms, dragging nails soflty as he did so. There was a low growl emmiting from his throat.

Verkur smiled, this time a little bit less dark and dangerous and more like a smile that meant he was enjoying himself...and dangerous. That trait just can't help but show itself through everything. But then, you try to make a six foot five inches and taller, sharp toothed, clawed, gray and unliving but not dead demon look innocent in any way. It's not easy. And it would be lieing anyways. He was pleased Jibril followed how he'd wanted him too. Jibril pleases him. That's a very good thing.

The growl from Jibril did exactly what it had the first time they'd met in the woods. It provoked a growl from Verkur's throat, a slight, quiet rolling sound. His claws rolled over the Angel's shoulders and let his claws draw lines before catching the angel's mouth with his and pressing the growl into Jibril's mouth, his tongue following.

That's a very good thing indeed. Jibril himself smiled when the other did. It was an odd look on Verkur's face - that smile - but it wasn't all together unpleasant. Just...odd. Jibril is easy to make look innocent, he can just do as he is now - looking at Verkur with his big green eyes and smiling prettily. Cute.

The growl from Verkur's throat only made Jibril keep his up, though it was again, more like that puring sound he is capable of. His shoulders rolled under the other's hands before the other caught his mouth and then he too kissed back, slipping his own long pink tongue into the other's mouth. His growl became softer at that point, like a quiet purr - pleased no doubt.

His hands that had been running up and down the other's arms then went up to the shoulders and into the hair, running through the black silk and wrapping his fringers in it.

It's amazing that it is unexceptable for human's to have sex without ever knowing anything about eachother but demons and angels can whenever they feel like it. Or maybe it's just sad.

Verkur rolled his hips upward, grinding against Jibril from below without breaking their growling, purring kiss. Even from the bottom he manages to stay on top, he's just a very dominant creature. That's all. The claws drew back over Jibril's shoulders, leaving his back to leave white lines all the way down his chest to the pant line, up his own hips and to the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, pulling the amount of silky hair with it, out of Jibril's grasp for a moment until he dropped the shirt on the floor, exposing his scared, muscled chest.

Instinct possibly? Or maybe it is just becuase humans are too uptight and too busy cuahgt up in trying to 'purge their sins' that they just don't realize if they want to be happy, the only thing they need to do is lighten up and have fun.

When Verkur ground up, Jibril arched and ground back down, fingers tightening in the silken hair. His skin shivered as the claws of the other ran over his skin and his legs tightened on either side f the demon's hips, digging in. He loosened his grip and raised himself when the other pulled up his shirt, allowing an easy slip up. But his mouth was once again covered by the other's as soon as it was revealed. He had no shirt, just the armings, but he was worried about them right now. No, he was focusing on other things.

Like Pants?

Verkur's already got that one covered.

Alice is used to the claws unbuttoning the pants, or the claws being so close to certian areas but I still wonder if he gets nervous about that. Jibril might not be used to it but Verkur had a suspicion that it didn't make Jibril nervous, he thought maybe wary but he didn't think the angel was very intimidated by the long, sharp claws. If anyone realized how well Verkur treated them like extensions and how long he's had them makes him an expert with them, it would be Jibril.

Verkur's managed to unbutton the pants, without tearing them off of Jibril's body or popping the button, look see, he's getting better about not tearing up clothing...mostly because the different fabrics are nice and the undressing process is, while tedious, it's interesting. He wrapped a strong arm around Jibril's torso and pulled him against his chest, lifting his lower half slightly, enough to push the pants down.

Obviously.

Jibril was comfortable with the other's abilities to handle his claws. He was able to control them and thus Jibril wasn't worried. He knew the only time he'd be worried is if he was being attacked by them.

The pants slipped down his slender hips and legs easilly, they are heavy and very loose. He was going commando too. That wasn't so bad - except for the fact that as soon as he lowered himself, he sat on the freezing thigh of Verkur. A small hiss and he shifted, thighs trying to close but failing to and so he stayed there, squirming atop and kissing Verkur.

Oooh, brrr.

Verkur doesn't mind squirming...not at all. And he doesn't mind that Jibril might be uncomfortable either, but that's just him not having a heart. Don't mind him.

After a moments squirming, however, Verkur grabbed Jibril's hips and held him in place, tightly against him, squeezing his thin hips breifly and roughly before releasing them and unbuttoning his own pants. He waited for Jibril to get up enough for him to slide the pants off of his legs.


*ner. that was crappy*